Robert B. Parker’s Blood Feud

Sixty-Four

Tony had already managed to set up the meeting for that night at a diner on the outskirts of Taunton, not far from the Rhode Island line, not exactly halfway between him and Albert Antonioni but close enough.

I had suggested Taunton to Tony, out of the same sense of compromise that had once brought Desmond Burke and Albert Antonioni there for the sit-down I had attended during the Millicent Patton case. Desmond had been there that day to provide support for me and to have my back. If everything went as planned, though hardly anything ever did, tomorrow I would now have his.

Richie and I were on the couch in the living room after I returned from Buddy’s Fox. We had gone over my plan, and were now going back over everything that had happened since he had been shot, one last time. We knew that everything that could be set in motion for tomorrow had been set in motion, despite all the loose ends that I knew still existed and all the questions I had that still needed answers, including the one about who had shot Dominic Carbone.

“That one still doesn’t fit,” I said.

“Unless Bobby Toms wanted to throw us off,” Richie said, “and didn’t care how he did it.”

“Remember, Susan Silverman says that what might seem like a pathology to us likely makes perfect sense to him,” I said.

“The avenger,” Richie said.

“But avenging what?” I said.

We had circled all the way back there.

Richie drank some of the coffee I had made for us. When he put his cup down, he seemed to be at rest. I knew better. Knew him well enough to know how fiercely he was fighting to maintain composure. He was Desmond Burke’s son, as much as he had been kept separate from the family business. He was Felix Burke’s nephew. As different as he was from them, he was of them.

He blew out some air, unclenched his fists, and gently rubbed Rosie’s head.

“This will work,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You’re convinced Albert knows where Desmond is being held and that Desmond really is still alive,” Richie said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Felix didn’t even attempt to deny he had the guns,” Richie said.

“He say where?”

“‘In a creative place’ is all he said. And said he would tell us where when Desmond was safe.”

“But his word is good on turning them over?”

Richie nodded.

“Good,” I said.

“Obviously your father knows where they are, too,” I said.

“They would have to kill him before he’d tell,” Richie said.

“Because he won’t give them the satisfaction?” I said.

“Because he’s Desmond Fucking Burke,” Richie said.

There was another silence between us. We both drank whiskey. Finally Richie said, “I very much want you to be right about all of this.”

“I am,” I said.

“And you still believe that we can rescue my father before it is too late?”

“Who better than us?” I said.